The Official Mistress
by SerEndy.HauntingLove
Summary: In 1525 Anne Boleyn became the maîtresse en titre of King Henry VIII. However, life as the chosen one of the King is not an easy one, and may, in the end, not spare Anne the fate to which she was resigned. Sometimes, love does not conquer all - or does it? Anne/Henry, Henry/KoA, Henry/Jane


**Disclaimer: **_ I do not own "The Tudors" it is the property of Show Time. If I did, I think I would have split from the truth and played on the idea of Henry NOT killing Anne, as personally, I feel she was his other half. For no other wife did he go to such lengths, nor pursue for as long. Nor do I own Henry, Anne, Katherine or the likes, as they lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago._

_Please Enjoy! I've played with this idea, and I know it is not the only "Mistress" story out there, but it is original (hopefully) none the less! Reviews make chapters appear faster._

**Prologue**

The tears that rolled down her cheeks came as hard and as fast as the rain that beat against her windows. The thunder rolled and lightning crashed across the sky as if God himself could feel her pain.

She had never imagined having to feel pain like this, and certainly not at thirty years old. The heart that lay shattered beneath her breast was the most painful ailment she had ever endured and knew that this was not something any tonic could fix.

"How did I get myself into this?" She wondered aloud, and unbidden, the memories came flooding to her minds eye.

* * *

"Anne, I want to say something to you. If it pleases you to be my true loyal mistress and friend, to give yourself up to me body and soul, I promise, I'll take you as my only mistress. My maîtresse en titre. I won't have a thought or affection for anyone else." Anne Boleyn's dark eyes stared into her would be lovers blue ones earnestly, desperately seeking the answer to his question. She studied his facial features. His strong jaw line that held little stubble. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes worried.

Did she love the King? Of that there was no doubt. But did she love him enough to sell her virtue? She had seen the hurt in her sister Mary's eyes every time she heard her name attached to the nickname, "The Great Prostitute." But this would be different; she would be the _official mistress_ of King Henry VIII, something no woman had ever managed to become. Would her family be happy with this? Or would they still push her for more? Could she be happy as just the lover of this man? Nothing more? Taking a deep breath, she spoke.

"Your Majesty; my love. May I ask you something before I give you my answer?" Her voice was shaky, and Henry picked up on her nervousness, taking her hand into his, rubbing it soothingly.

"You may ask me anything. I would like to call you Anne. Therefore, I ask that you please call me Henry." She nodded faintly gathering her courage.

"If I consent to being your 'maîtresse en titre, what will happen when you tire of me?" Her voice was small and Henry saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the buried pain at ever being left by this man. He crushed her to his chest in a powerful hug.

"Oh my love. Oh Anne, I shall never tire of you. London would have to melt into the Thames first." He spoke reassuringly into her long chestnut hair, breathing in the smell of roses.

"And what of children that I might bare you? I know they would be bastards in God's eyes and in the eyes of the law, but would you acknowledge them? Would you love them?" As she spoke her words, she pulled away to watch his reaction. She was pleased to see no hesitation in him as he answered her.

"My own heart, how could I not love something that came from you? Of course I would acknowledge them, and if the Lord were to bless us with children, I'd want the whole of Christendom to see them! To be proud of them, for bastards or not, they would still be the children of a King!" He spoke enthusiastically, already picturing a son in his image, and a daughter the perfect blend of the two of them.

"What if I am never able to bare you a son?" Her voice shrank as she asked the dreaded question. She knew the only reason he was straying so far from his queen, Katherine of Aragon, due to her inability to provide him with a male heir.

"Give me fifteen daughters for all I bloody care! As long as I have you at the end of the night to share a warm bed with, I don't care." He declared. It was then that she n

"If this be true Henry, then yes. I consent." She pulled away long enough to meet his eyes; unable to help herself, she crushed her lips to his.

* * *

As the heartbroken girl thought about that day almost eleven years ago, she knew that day had ultimately led to this.


End file.
